


Stars Shine Above

by lea_hazel



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bathing/Washing, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Depression, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Hair Brushing, Hurt/Comfort, Skyrim Kink Meme, Unrequited Crush, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn has not left her room in days and Brelyna is at her wits' end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars Shine Above

"You talk to her," said Brelyna, having exited the archmage's rooms and slammed the door behind her with great force. 

"Why me?" complained Onmund. "She never listens to anything I say." 

"This is true," said J'zargo. "He cannot even convince her into his bed." 

Onmund made a choked sound. "What-- How dare you?" 

"Stop it, both of you," said Brelyna, clucking her tongue. "This is much more important. We have to do something. She hasn't been out of her room in, what was it? A week?" 

"Longer," said Onmund. "Definitely longer than a week." 

"J'zargo has not seen the archmage about the college in many days," said the khajiit. "Not even in the arcaneum." 

"There has to be something more we can do," said Brelyna miserably. "Someone, talk some sense into her!" 

"I don't think it works that way," said Onmund. 

"You're not helping," said Brelyna crossly. 

"What else can we do?" he asked. "If she doesn't want to come out, we can't very well make her." 

"She will likely explode us if we try," added J'zargo. "J'zargo does not know enough restoration magic to guard against that." 

"Well," said Brelyna, "I'm going to do something about it." 

And she stomped off towards the hall of attainment. 

***

Lydia was at the marketplace when the courier found her. Urgent message, for her eyes only, he'd been searching for her everywhere. All the usual excuses. He handed her a tightly rolled letter tied with a ribbon and sealed – messily – with green wax. Once her hand was around it, he dropped it like a hot iron and bolted in the direction of the city gates, babbling something about having other letters to deliver. Lydia stared after him for a moment. Shaking her head, she took the letter and her shopping back to Breezehome. 

The house was empty. The house was always empty, these days. When her Thane had dismissed her – rather, let it be said, when she woke up in Vilemyr to find her bed empty and her things gone – she had nothing to do but return to Whiterun. Her job was to protect the Thane and all she owned, and all she owned was in this house. This empty, drafty house with its cold, empty rooms. Not that anyone would think to burgle the Dragonborn's home, that would be daft. 

Being dismissed wasn't pleasant. Having been dismissed so obliquely, without a word of parting, rankled a great deal more. What worried Lydia most, though, was that she had no idea where the Dragonborn actually was. The letter in her hands, however unwelcome its arrival, answered at least that question. She recognized, dimly, the name signed at the bottom as belonging to one of the mages from Winterhold, the elf, she guessed. Well, that was one mystery solved. Now all Lydia needed to do was find her Thane and ask her what in Oblivion she thought she was doing.  

***

The elf met her at the Frozen Hearth, outside the college walls. She was surprised to see her there, and judging from the uncomfortable silence in the barroom, so was everyone else. But there she was, sitting at a table with an open bottle of wine in front of her. Lydia resisted the urge to shake her head meaningfully, and instead took a seat across from her and helped herself to the wine. 

"Did you come here directly?" asked Brelyna. 

"No," said Lydia. "I made a detour through Falkreath. I brought something that might help." 

Her relief was palpable. "I'm glad I wrote to you. I was at my wits' end." 

Lydia shrugged. "I didn't even know she was here." 

Brelyna's eyebrows snapped together. "How do you mean?" 

"She just disappeared one morning," said Lydia. "I woke up and she wasn't there. No note, no explanation. I could have tracked her, if I'd thought it would do any good." 

"Why didn't you?" asked Brelyna. 

"People who want to get lost, know how to stay lost," she said. "She'd only have skipped town again and gone somewhere else, farther away." 

"Well," said Brelyna, "she's not going anywhere from here." 

Lydia tried to hide her amusement. "Because you won't let her?" 

"No," said the elf. "Because she hasn't left her bedroom in almost a month." 

"Not for any diverting reason, I assume," said Lydia dryly. 

"What-- oh, no," said Brelyna. "No, she just lies in bed all day and all night. At least, as far as we can tell." 

Lydia frowned. 

"I was hoping that if you came, she would listen to you," said Brelyna. 

Her frown deepened. 

Brelyna sighed and her shoulders slumped. "I guess not. Is it hopeless, then?" 

"We'll see," said Lydia, draining her cup and rising from the table. "Come on." 

***

“Should we knock?” asked Onmund nervously. “We should probably knock. You do it.” 

He shoved the khajiit towards the locked door with both hands, and the latter hissed. 

“J'zargo has no intention of entering the archmage's quarters uninvited,” he said. “If you wish to intrude, you are welcome to do so.” 

While they were arguing, Brelyna passed them by and rapped smartly on the door. 

“What is it?” came the reply, muffled by the heavy oaken door. 

“Lydia is here to see you,” Brelyna called out. “Will you come out?” 

There was a short silence, followed by, “Later.” 

Onmund sighed. “I told you it wouldn't work.” 

“You give up too easily,” said Brelyna, perching her fists on her hips. “She's coming up, and she said she's brought something that will convince her.” 

“How will it draw her out,” asked J'zargo, “if she is not out to see it?” 

“Simple,” said Lydia, who had just appeared in the doorway. “I have it on good authority that the smell alone should be enough to draw her out.” 

Brelyna eyed the pot in her hands dubiously. “Do you think it'll work?” 

“Go get me a clean cup,” was Lydia's only reply.

***

Brelyna knocked again on the door and waited. A spicy, bitter smell was rising from the covered pot and wafting slowly through the room. It was a strange aroma but, she had to admit, more intriguing than unpleasant. Regardless, if it could draw out their archmage, it will have served its purpose. She tilted her head, not quite pressing her ear to the wooden door, listening for movement beyond. Finally she heard a creak and a click, like a door being opened and closed. Hastily she stepped back and waited, watching the door along with the others. 

The door opened. 

The room was very still, as though everyone were holding their breath. 

"Where's that smell coming from? Is that-- Oh." 

Lydia stood before the doorway, her eyes locked on her thane, with the cup and the pot in her hands. 

The archmage shuffled her feet and scratched the back of her neck. "Hi." 

"Long life to you, my thane," said Lydia. 

It was the most discourteous use of an honorific that Brelyna had ever heard. 

"Um," said the Dragonborn, "is that for me?" 

"Indeed it is," said Lydia. 

The look that spread on her face could almost be termed a smile. She stepped forward and reached for the cup, but Lydia pulled it back. 

"Uh...?" 

"You can have it," said Brelyna, stepping forward to fill the gap between then, "after you do some things for me." 

"Brelyna," she snapped, "I am  _really_  not in the mood for one of your  _experiments_." 

She sidestepped the insult and went on. "You have to get dressed," she said, and sniffed. "And take a bath, and wash your hair." 

A blank stare. 

Brelyna tried again. "If you do those things, you can have the whole pot." 

"It'll get cold!" she whined. 

"Perhaps," said Lydia tersely, "you'd best hurry." 

***

Onmund had talked one of the scullery maids into filling a tub in a corner of the kitchens and screening it off. The water was hot enough to waft tiny trails of steam, even in the stifling heat of the kitchens -- undoubtedly the only warm part of the College, and possibly all of Winterhold. Too stifling for Onmund, who started sweating immediately upon entering and quickly excused himself to deal with some urgent business. Too damp for J'zargo to hang behind, after he had made a point of noting that perhaps it wasn't the roaring fire that made Onmund sweat so much. 

Brelyna herself had no difficulty with the heat, of course. Although she had been in the College just long enough that she'd finally come to accept Skyrim's climatic deficiencies, this still made a nice change. She heard rustling behind the screen and surmised that her companion felt similarly. She'd never been able to establish where her human friend originally hailed from, but her frequent swearing in the face of the bitter cold made it unlikely that she was a Skyrim native. 

She heard a hiss followed by a long sigh. 

"There," she said, "now that isn't so bad, is it?" 

"I don't have anything against bathing, Bree," she said. "It's the blackmail I take exception to." 

Brelyna clucked her tongue. "Bribe," she corrected patiently, "not blackmail. There's a difference." 

Behind the screen, the archmage of Winterhold grumbled under her breath. 

"What was that?" asked Brelyna. 

"My hair won't come undone." 

Brelyna hesitated and finally said, "Do you need a hand?" 

More grumbling. "Maybe, yeah, I think." 

"All right," she said. "I'm coming in." 

She was sitting in the tub with her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her hair hung, lank and ropey, over her neck. She'd kept it short, to her chin, when they'd first met, said she didn't want it getting in the way. When they'd met, her hair had smelled like lavender. 

"Let me try," said Brelyna, and picked up the bone comb that was lying on a nearby table. 

"I already tried that," she said dully. "It won't go through." 

Brelyna was too stubborn to take her word, and besides, she wasn't a credible witness over what was and wasn't possible, these days. And yet she was right. When she tried to draw the comb through a small hunk of damp hair, its teeth snagged on the offering, too sticky to eat. 'How long has it been since you last washed your hair?' she'd wanted to ask, but didn't. Instead she scooped up a palmful of gloopy soap and worked it into the rope of hair, twisting and working it with her fingertips until single hairs started to make themselves apparent. 

"Here," she said, handing her the comb. "Try it now." 

It was a long, dull and wearying process, during which they spoke not at all. 

When it was done, she retreated back behind the screen for privacy. She'd taken the time to set aside some fresh clothes while the archmage's hooded robes were being laundered, or possibly cleansed in purifying flames. "Colette seemed to think those would fit your size," she said. 

She grumbled a lot less, for once, and emerged clothed and more or less respectable-looking. 

"I did not spend the last three months pacifying mudcrabs and muffling everything in sight," she said, "so that I could go back to wearing  _apprentice_  robes." 

"You can send for a new set that's more to your liking," said Brelyna. "I'm certain Birna would be glad to deliver them to your door. You could even enchant your own set." 

She put out her hand, conjuring a feeble sphere of light. "I might have to." 

"Judging by the smell, supper is ready and waiting upstairs," said Brelyna. 

She stiffened. "That wasn't part of the deal." 

But her head tilted towards the open staircase and the rumbling of her stomach was audible. What on Nirn had she been eating, for all those weeks? If she found that the maids had been bringing her food, Brelyna thought, she might need to personally dress them down. 

"Just come and eat with us," she said, "please." 

The archmage said nothing, but shuffled to the staircase and began climbing the steps slowly, taking one at a time. 

Brelyna sighed to herself before following. 

***

The mages' dining hall was filled with as much bustle as a college of twenty or thirty mages could generate, when half of them perpetually got so engrossed in their research that they neglected to eat. Small wonder that one empty seat had gone unnoticed for so long, even if that seat belonged to their brand new and much-lauded archmage. Even scholars needed to eat, though, and so the chairs around the table were mostly full, and the plates on it mostly empty. 

Onmund was sitting at the very end of one table, seemingly engrossed with his bottle of mead. 

Around him the hall slowly emptied, and a harried-looking maid started piling plates and bowls in her arms for washing up. 

Halfway down the long table and to his left, the formerly empty chair was now occupied. The one sitting in it cast occasional glances in his direction. 

Onmund studiously avoided meeting that gaze. 

This became harder to do when she got up from her seat and chose a new one, just across from him. The half-empty bottle of alto wine that rested on the table between them was hardly enough for camouflage. 

"Hi," she said. 

He looked up at her from under his hood. She was twiddling her thumbs, her hands pressed tightly together. 

"I hear you were worried about me," she said. 

"I guess I was," said Onmund, and added, "You were in there for such a long time." 

"I'm sorry," she said. "For making you worry." 

He nodded acknowledgement, not knowing how else to respond to such an odd remark. 

She shuffled in her seat and finally stood up. "I guess that's all I wanted to say." 

Onmund ducked his head, examining the label on his bottle of mead. He could faintly hear her soft padding footsteps walking away. 

"Zia," he said. 

She stopped and turned. 

He turned the question in his mind over and over, trying to decide how best to approach it. "Why didn't you talk to me?" 

Her face twisted into a nameless mask. "I don't know." 

***

She sought out Lydia next, guessing correctly that she would find her in the archmage's spacious quarters, sitting by the alchemist's garden. It was still lush and thriving, even after weeks of intermittent half-hearted care. A pot of coffee stood on the table beside her, and next to it two cups, one empty and the other half-full.  _That_  she hadn't predicted. 

Pouring herself a cup, she wrapped her hands around it to absorb its gentle heat and settled herself in the second chair. 

"You came from Whiterun?" she asked. 

"Yes," said Lydia, mercifully brief and to-the-point. 

"How is..." she trailed off vaguely in search of a conclusion, "everything?" 

"Nothing's changed," said Lydia. 

"Still the war," said Zia bitterly. 

"There is still a war, and you are still Dragonborn," said Lydia. 

Zia flinched. 

“Only one question remains, then, my Thane,” said Lydia. “What are you going to do about it?” 

“I, uh...” she trailed off, staring vaguely at a spot just above Lydia's left shoulder. 

Lydia didn't even try to hide her glare. 

“Look, okay!” said Zia, raising her hands defensively. “I have some things I need to finish here, and some business to take care of in the town. Then we can leave.” 

“Leave for where?” asked Lydia. 

“Back to Whiterun,” said the Dragonborn, “and then Solitude. I guess.” 

“As you wish, my Thane.”

***

Goodbyes were always awkward. The masters and adepts spoke their parting words in private, more eager to know who would be left as acting archmage while the Dragonborn attended to her duties elsewhere. Colette helpfully pressed her to borrow a few scrolls of healing, for which Zia was grateful. Somehow, she had never quite got her restoration skills up to par, and Lydia seemed to get injured very often. 

It was not so easy to dismiss the apprentices. She found them waiting for her near the entrance to the Hall of the Elements. 

“I'm only leaving because I have to,” she said. “I'll be coming back as soon as I can.” 

J'zargo flicked his tail when he said, “J'zargo will miss the archmage, even if your destruction magic is no match for J'zargo's mastery.” 

“Thank you,” she said. 

Onmund shuffled his feet. “Try to stay safe,” he said. “There's a war going on out there.” 

Zia smiled weakly. “I know. I will.” 

Brelyna stood back while the others spoke, and Zia thought for a while she would just leave without saying anything. Suddenly she darted forward, grabbing her awkwardly around the waist and directing a poorly-aimed kiss on her cheek. “Take care of yourself,” she whispered. 

Zia clutched at her sleeves for balance, wobbling from the impact. “I told you, Bree,” she said softly, “I'm coming back. I promise.” 

She released her just as abruptly. 

The Dragonborn looked back once more at the Hall behind her and the mages who went about their daily work. Then she turned back towards the vast entryway. “I'm ready,” she said. “Let's go.” 

“You lead, I'll follow,” said Lydia.


End file.
